


La Morte

by CreziasAlias



Series: The Borgias - La Morte [1]
Category: The Borgias (Showtime TV)
Genre: Borgiacest, F/M, Forbidden Love, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-24 03:20:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14946630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreziasAlias/pseuds/CreziasAlias
Summary: After her fateful wedding night, Cesare leaves Lucrezia for the battlefield, while she is left confused and frustrated in the Vatican. When he returns unexpectedly early, things run their own course."Chapter 5: Playing the Game" added!





	1. The Return

‘My lady?’

Lucrezia lifted her head and saw a maid standing in the doorway of her bedchambers. She had lost herself in thought while rocking Giovanni’s cradle, and had not heard anyone enter - and what impudence to do so without asking! Upon studying the unknown dark-haired girl, she vaguely recognised her as one of her mother’s servants. Certainly, she would inform her mother about this, tell her to discipline her servants…Lucrezia felt her discontent grow even more when she noticed the girl’s impatient fumbling and overly excited expression. What on earth was she so happy about? She turned her head back to her sleeping son after giving a slight nod to the maid, allowing her to speak.

‘Your mother wishes to speak to you, my lady,’ the girl said in a squeaky voice.

‘For what reason?’ Lucrezia answered monotonously, reluctant to engage in any conversation at all.She knew she was being unreasonable, that her face was too obviously annoyed and her voice too sharply edged. These days, the only words leaving her lips were the ones absolutely necessary, in part because she knew how poisonous they appeared. She hardly meant to hurt anyone; everyone except her son merely bored her, irritated her or angered her. The one thing in which she could find comfort were her dreams, where she often imagined her brother sitting on the side of her bed, talking to her in that soft voice that seemed reserved for her ears alone. Often, she would wake up and not find her brother there, but her husband, looking down on her with a concerned expression on his kind face. Lucrezia would reach for him, kiss him, take him into her arms and whisper soft, soft words to her sweet, sweet husband, whom she loved so dearly…Yet, as much as she tried to ignore it, somewhere underneath her heart crumbled and her soul cried bitter tears. She longed for counsel that was not her husband’s and feel a warmth that belonged only to *him*. Had she not chosen Alfonso because she loved him? Did she not love him still? She had chosen her husband because he had been sweeter than any man she had ever met, with a great gentleness about him. He had been like beeswax in her hands: like the ancient Pygmalion and his Galatea, she could make of Alfonso into the man she desired. Was it possible that in Alfonso and her son, she had found all she had ever wanted, despite her being a Borgia? If that was the face of happiness, then why did her heart feel so heavy? Why growl at the servants and spend long days longing for short nights, where she may drift off in secret, forbidden dreams? The maid’s stifling words pulled Lucrezia out of her daze.

‘My lady? As I said: forgive me, but Lady Cattanei forbade me from saying anything but this: you are to meet her in the Sistine Chapel. She said the rest is meant to be a surprise.’ A broad smile arose on the girl’s face when she mentioned ‘surprise’.Lucrezia sighed, straightened her back and looked at Vanozza’s servant. It was quite a pretty girl, with big brown eyes matching her curly hair, all messily stuffed beneath her dirty cap. Immediately she regretted her sternness.

‘Alright,’ she sighed and tried to smile. ‘Would you fetch Laura? I would have someone watch over Giovanni? She should be in the maid’s quarter next to my chambers.’

The servant quickly nodded, turned around and disappeared, her footsteps quickly fading away. Lucrezia softly kissed her son’s forehead, smoothed her heavy skirts and stepped out of the room. As she strode through the Vatican halls, with its high ceilings and graceful decorations, she marvelled at the silence that dominated them. The sun had not yet reached its highest, yet the first floor seemed for the most part empty. Lucrezia descended the stairs and crossed the small anteroom, feeling a bit uneasy in such unusual silence. With the Torre Borgia like a shining fort behind her, she made her way to the equally alluring Sistine Chapel. The noise that could only be that of an enormous crowd of people, reached her ears long before she got there. She wondered why everyone had gathered in the chapel, and what surprise her mother had waiting for her. Instantly she regretted not looking in the mirror before she had left. When she reached the entrance to the chapel and the doormen had cleared the way for the daughter of the Pope, the first thing she saw was her father, sitting on his throne at the far end of the room. Then she noticed the man he was talking to, a tall, young man with dark, curly hair and a body that reminded of a Greek god. Instead of approaching her father to kiss his ring, as she knew was appropriate for such a gathering in the main chapel, she remained in the doorway, staring at the man in front of her father. The form of his back, the little movements he made with his head, the way his index finger kept circling around the silver tip of the dagger that always stuck to the right of his hips.

He had been away for a long time and she had suffered because she had missed him – but it was only now that she realised the weight it had put on her. The cloth that had covered her mouth was lifted, the ropes on her hands removed, the shackles from her ankles left behind and the hole, oh, the hole that she had carried around! Something vital to her had been returned at last! She had lingered at the cleared-out entrance for such a long time now, that the people around her started staring at her, wondering what the pope’s daughter was doing clinging to the doorpost. Soon, there was no one left in the chapel that still seemed interested in the conversation between Il Valentino and the Holy Father. The conversation fell quiet when Cesare turned his head, distracted by the silent public. His eyes searched the room and passed the crowd, held to a stop at the doorway. Their eyes locked. She felt her skin tickling, in anticipation of his touch, and realised she was tired of waiting. She wouldn’t wait any longer, not now he was so close!

Almost without thought, she broke from her paralyses and stepped into the chapel. He had turned around and started walking, too, his eyes still fixed on hers. She saw him quicken his pace until striding turned to walking and walking turned to running, and she felt her own feet do the same. His fingers had left the silver tip of the dagger, reaching for her. A high-pitched sound left her throat when she threw her arms around his neck and his strong arms locked her in a tight embrace. She no longer sensed the world around her, for his warmth, his scent and his touch filled her mind and body completely, leaving no room for anything else. His mouth touched her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks, her jaw, her neck. Her fingers slid into his hair and ruffled his many curly locks, arbitrarily sending her mind back to the night of her wedding. His hot lips glued to hers and his hands lying on her back, moving to places they shouldn’t…

Right then, it seemed they both became aware of the hundreds of curious eyes resting upon them. She now saw many people she hadn’t noticed before: Giulia, standing next to the pope, her mother, close to the entrance, Micheletto right behind her, and in the back of the chapel were cardinal Sforza and cardinal Della Rovere. Did she see shock in their expressions, or disgust? An acute fear gripped her heart. She felt that his hands had not moved from her back, nor did she remember kissing him on his mouth, and yet it felt like all those people had seen too, way too much. She pulled away from her brother without saying a word, avoiding his eyes, and rushed towards her father.

‘Father,’ she whispered, while she kneeled before him, took his hand and kissed his ring.

‘My darling daughter,’ he replied, ‘Our son has at last found his way back to the bosom of his family. We had feared that he would return a French man, but we see that his affections remain Spanish. Now, we would be very interested to hear more of your brother’s stories.’ He waved his hand for the crowd to leave, with the same careless, indifferent look on his face that she had grown accustomed to over the years, but which hid expressions a shepherd could not show his sheep. After all, family matters had to be dealt with, and they were certainly much too delicate for the ears of the poor herd. As the many people, all so different-looking yet somehow so alike, flowed out of the chapel, she thought they indeed resembled a herd of mindless sheep. And at the same time, she thought she might follow them, for sometimes the other side of the fence seemed to appeal to her more than the comfortable hearth of the shepherd’s house. She averted her eyes from the crowd and redirected her attention to the Pope’s shining throne. She stepped closer, completing the circle of the Borgia family, with Rodrigo in the middle. Her father began to speak in his deep baritone voice, but she had difficulty concentrating on what he said. Every few seconds, her eyes flashed towards her brother, who more than once caught her gaze furtively. She reached for the rosary that hung around her neck, asking God for forgiveness. But she knew He wouldn’t hear her. The shepherd’s house was a long way from Heaven, and every time her eyes were drawn back to her brother's, she could feel the distance growing.


	2. Too Close to the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their reunion in the Sistine Chapel, Cesare visits Lucrezia in her bedchambers. Lucrezia realises that her brother's time away from the Vatican and her time alone has changed little, and that the line they crossed that one night might have been a point of no return.

‘Don’t ever leave me again.’

After two endless hours of ‘family council’, their father had finally allowed his children to retire to their rooms. Cesare had put on something more comfortable before creeping into her room, where he had settled on her bed, close to her side. He sighed as a response to her childish demand and opened his mouth to resist her. She would never let him, however, so she spoke first.

‘I want to find happiness, Cesare, and I want it for you too, more than anything. But where am I supposed to find it if you are away with your army, in foreign countries with foreign people, not knowing if they are friends or enemies – always exposed to danger! I feel no happiness in not knowing if you are well, only excruciating fear! So, you must not leave me, Cesare, I won’t bare it!’To her surprise, he stayed silent now, so she pressed her head closer to his chest and listened to his heart throbbing clearly and regularly. After what seemed a pleasant eternity, he finally spoke, breaking her out of her trance.

‘We are no longer innocent children, my love, we are Borgias. We cannot walk away from that, not anymore,’ He picked up a strand of her hair and let the silken texture slide through his fingers. ‘Regardless of what we truly want.’ She pulled herself up at these words, leaning on her elbows, and looked down on his beautiful features. He stared back at her with a strange expression on his face, still holding on to the strand of hair. A little, insecure smile broke out on his face before he continued hesitantly, ‘And… there is the matter of your husband. I imagine he would have to escape as well.’She didn’t answer and forced herself not to think of what her brother seemed to imply. His dark eyes moved away from hers and focused on the wall behind her. ‘You love him, do you not?’ She shuddered at his hoarse voice, the way he said ‘love’. Whatever it was, her ears ringed to hear more, and commanded her tongue to say anything, tell any truth even it was a lie.

‘Of course. As a dutiful wife should.’ She did love him, she did!

Her brother’s distant gaze locked with hers again, searching for the truth and hoping so much to find a lie. Slowly, his fingers let go of her hair and moved to her lips, where they traced its shape over and over. She didn’t think she was still breathing, nor did she feel the need. All she needed to feel alive was him, only him! And there it was at last, the truth, bitter and unwanted though it was. Alfonso’s touch was sweet, his voice spoke gently, and in his eyes, she had seen a love for his wife that was unbounded. It left her contented and it made her feel loved, which was something she had always deemed impossible to find in a husband. But as she looked in Cesare’s eyes and felt the trace of fire that his fingers left on her lips, she realised that it was a completely different love. When she looked in his eyes, she did not feel only loved or wanted, no – in those shadows moved something that reflected her deepest desires and every part of her that would never drift to the surface for fear others wouldn’t understand, or for fear that she herself wouldn’t even understand, the darkness that sometimes moved her mind. And in those endless pools of iridescence she saw that he understood, fully understood, like no other ever could. Such a love ran so deep it would make her forget how to breathe or how to think, until all she could feel was his hot touch on her parted lips. Gravity seemed to weigh heavier than it should, for the distance between their faces diminished by every second, while neither of them really intended for it to happen. Then, finally, he took over from the universe and broke its ever-lingering hold on them. His eyes shifted to her lips while his hands moved to the back of her head, forcing her to mount the final centimetre. She let desire take over and felt herself become completely weightless as her lips touched his. He kissed her gently at first, but when her lips opened longingly, passion took over and she felt his tongue everywhere, filling her mouth with his sweet taste. She moved her hands from his cheeks to his blouse and fumbled at the cords, while she clang to him ever so tightly. She wanted more, more!

Suddenly he gripped her shoulders and rolled her over on her side, removing her weight from his body. He ripped his lips from hers and pulled away so quickly her body froze in confusion for a few seconds. Then she managed to recollect herself and sit up straight, finally breathing again.

‘I told you not to leave me.’ The accusing words rolled off her tongue before she could stop them.He had already moved to the far end of the bed, ready to get up and walk away, leave her again. He sat still for a moment, with his back towards her, and softly replied, ‘You know we can’t, Crezia.’ She stared at his back. Even in the dim candlelight, she could see the strong lines of his muscles through his white blouse. Impulsively, she placed her hand on his shoulder. His skin seemed to burn beneath it. Before she could speak, he jumped from the bed as if her hand had indeed burned him.

‘Good night, sister.’ Without looking back, he left her.


	3. The Contemplation of Marriage Vows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his leaving Lucrezia's chambers in a hurry the night before, Cesare returns to check up on her. They talk about her marriage vows, but their conversation ends in surreal disaster.

She lay in bed naked. Her hair hung loosely around her face, illuminated by the golden light that sprung from the afternoon sun. In fact, the sun was Midas’s finishing touch to her fine chambers: the draperies were a soft yellow, threaded with strands of gold, the heavy, sand-coloured bedposts curled as elegantly as her own hair and even the sheets and the dress she held below her bare body seemed to glow radiantly. It was a display of abundance, perhaps, of materialism and greed, yet it made her feel lovelier and happier than most other things. It was her little palace, her little heaven on earth, that she could share with whoever she wanted to share it with, and where she could do as she pleased.  
There was a knock on the door. A voice called out her name, and her heart jumped.   
Where she could do as she pleased. The thought echoed through her head.  
‘Is that you, brother?’ she asked quite breathlessly, ‘The brother who loves me?’  
‘The same,’ he replied, and she knew he was smiling. He had come back!  
‘Well, come in then.’  
The doorknob turned, and her brother slipped in, only to stand completely still on the threshold. She was only vaguely aware of her nakedness. She looked at his face instead, intrigued by the many expressions that flashed across his face. He seemed so utterly confused. She thought he looked like a lost child, yet the innocence was lost in the defiance and hunger that darkened his eyes.   
What a sight he was!  
But before she could see more, or too much, he recovered himself, muttered some excuse and got ready to leave again.  
‘Come closer brother!’ she was careful not to sound desperate, and she averted her attention to the dress she was lying on. ‘My gown. Do you approve?’ He seemed thankful for the invitation to look at anything but her.  
‘The gold is…,’ he stopped midsentence, lost suddenly for words as he realised that the dress only just covered her breasts. His face a little red, he looked up again and slowly said: ‘…divine.’   
She said nothing and kept staring at him, enjoying the torture he was obviously in.  
He turned around and for a moment, she thought he would really leave now. She felt a surge of shame. She had gone too far, this time!   
But before she finish that thought, he closed the door in a swift move and turned to look at her again. The shame melted away as quickly as it had hit her, replaced by a newfound confidence.  
‘I sh-should leave… sis,’ he began, as she heard the door close with a definite click behind him.  
‘Why?’ she demanded, seductively pouching her lips. ‘Am I ugly, brother?’  
‘A man who makes that claim will loose his tongue,’ he replied immediately.  
She just smiled. The ensuing silence weighed as heavy as a damp cloak, smothering their breathing and turning up the heat until the room felt like the very inside of a hearth.  
‘My foot,’ she said slowly. ‘It is ungainly. Too large, perhaps.’ If felt like she had stabbed him in his heart and was twitching the knife to attract a cry from his lips. He certainly looked the part.   
When he spoke, his voice sounded raw and gritty, like it belonged to an animal instead of the dark and handsome man lingering at the door.   
‘Your foot is beautiful.’  
Fully convinced, she decided, ‘Well, you can’t tell from there. Feel it.’  
He obeyed and came to her bedside. The distance between them had been his last and only shield against her, and now he was powerless somehow. She looked at him intensely, while he took her foot in his hand and pretended to look for faults she most certainly did not have.  
‘Is this a game?’ he asked in the same, strange voice. She thought about it for a few seconds, while his hand softly caressed her foot.  
‘It is a game… of want, and wanting.' His hand slowly moved toward her ankle and started to tickle her calf, but he didn’t seem to take note of it.   
‘The toes are… splayed, a little. God has made better feet, I’m sure.’  
Still looking at her, he grinned and said resolutely, ‘Not where I have found.’   
‘You are a connoisseur of feet?’ She laughed gayly, while his hand moved up her calf.  
‘Yes! And I have found none better.’  
Another silence seemed to drive up the heat even further.   
‘My calf… Is it elegant? Is it smooth?’ She was so aware of his touch that she could manage to do little more than whisper. He looked at her bare legs, at his hands that moved upwards, and suddenly they seemed to frighten him. Quickly he let go of her legs.  
‘What is this game, sis?’  
She sighed and leaned back.  
‘My betrothed will not bed be. He will not touch me. He is a virgin.’ She looked down and fumbled with her sheets, feeling slightly uncomfortable, yet the indignation she felt again at that thought was stronger. She felt him loom over her, looking at his feet, trying to think of something to say. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision and said, looking back at her: ‘You have the means to change that, I’m sure.’ He didn’t pose it as a question, more like a conclusion, and she felt herself smile.  
‘Are you sure?’ she teased. ‘That this body has…the necessary charms?’   
In a sudden flash of confidence, she leaned forward and grabbed his blouse, forcing him to get onto the bed. He looked surprised and let out an odd, heavy sigh, letting her pull him in. He settled on the bed, close to her side, only a few inches from her face.  
‘I’m certain.’ He said, panting. She saw the defiance and hunger burn brightly in his eyes. Desperate to touch him, she fumbled with his blouse, speaking in a weird voice that didn’t seem hers.  
‘He has made a vow to Saint Agnus, the patron saint of purity. To remain chaste until married.’  
‘Unwise,’ he muttered, while his eyes followed the curves of her body.  
She let go of his blouse and ran her fingers through his dark hair, that felt as soft and curly as her own. She shivered.   
‘I am a Borgia. And I feel unloved.’ It felt like a question, for some reason.  
‘Positively foolish.;' Surely it was the right answer, and yet not satisfactory. With his hands still in his hair, she forced him to look her in the eye.  
‘You look, but don’t touch.’   
His face came closer. She felt his hand, that had lingered around her belly, suddenly grabbing her naked waist. His warm breath was on her face, and she felt her own breathing become heavier. ‘Saint Agnus…’ he mouthed, but she could hardly hear the words. She brought her head even closer, daring him to do something, to stop resisting her. He never could.  
In a sudden movement, that surprised her more than she’d expected, he pressed his lips onto hers, pushed her back on the sheets and rolled on top of her, keeping most of his weight off her by supporting on his elbows. She retook herself, wrapped her legs high around his thighs and returned his demanding kisses. His leathery pants brushed against her burning loins and his silk blouse lightly touched her nipples, making her nearly loose her mind.   
More, more, more!   
She tried to open the cord on his blouse, but her hands trembled so much and his kiss was so demanding, that she had little success. Encouraged by her attempts, he pulled his mouth away from hers, sat up and pulled the blouse over his head in one supple movement. She looked at his body, the physical beauty of it, the strength. Unable to resist, she touched his hard torso, traced his scars and kissed his skin, that was as fair as hers. He let out a long sigh and bit his lips, looking her in the eyes. It was like looking at herself: the look of desire, mixed with something of relief.   
He leaned over her again and started kissing her everywhere. His lips followed her jawline and slowly moved to her neck, while her hands travelled across his muscled back. She pressed him closer against her body, until she felt his skin on her own. His lips had found hers again, but his hands now trailed a long line from her neck down to her thighs. He caressed them, let them wander off to her loins, and fuelled the fire in them. As his tongue slid into her mouth and his fingers softly traced circles on the inside of her legs, she failed miserably to supress a cry of pleasure. She felt him smile while his fingers kept teasing her, and she couldn’t think about anything else anymore. There was only him, in every corner of her mind.  
Then, without warning, the doors swung open. They both looked at the doorway in horror, still holding each other tightly.   
At first, she only saw a bright light. Confused, she pinched her eyes, but it didn’t help. Only when the light magically started to fade, she could make out the contour of a man.  
‘Who is-’ The voice belonged to her future husband, Alfonso.  
She tried to cover herself with her sheets, but could only find the golden wedding dress.   
Before she could say anything, although she had no idea what it would have been, Alfonso said: ‘I cannot live like this.’   
Still standing in a light that was just a little too bright for her to see what was happening, the contours of Alfonso made a view wild movements and suddenly dropped to the floor, where it stayed motionless, like a bag of flower. Shocked by this sight, Lucrezia blinked and looked down at her brother helplessly. He still lay in the same position, but his right hand was no longer on her behind. It was on the sheets, and held something long and shiny.   
Aut Caesar, Aut Nihil, the inscription said.  
His sword.  
Panicked, she looked back at Alfonso, who still lay apparently dead in the doorway. When she turned her head again, she saw that the sword and the sheets were now covered in dark blood. She tried to move away from her brother, but somehow she couldn’t move away from under him.  
‘Don’t worry, Lucrezia, my dear. God will surely forgive your sins,’ another voice said. She jerked her head up in horror.  
Her father now stood in the blinding light. She wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but her voice seemed to have slipped from her throat.  
Rodrigo looked upon his daughter and son with a curious smile before he added, ‘But I won’t.’   
Then she found her voice again, and screamed.


	4. Wine to Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucrezia is reeling from a rather disconcerting dream, and attempts to reign in her emotions with wine - she is not the only one, however, and alcohol ultimately makes for loose lips.

The door burst open and Cesare stood in a haze of light illuminating her doorway. She sat op hastily in bed and looked around her bedroom. There was no trace of blood on her bed, nor was there a dress or a sword – more importantly, Cesare was not in between her thighs, but standing safely in the doorway, eying her intently. She now remembered going back to her rooms after lunch, and apparently she had fallen asleep. The sun stood low in the sky and was spreading its last, bright orange rays through her room, giving it a mystical glow. She remained seated there without saying a word, staring into space, completely shocked by her dream. Cesare rushed to her bedside and took her face between his palms, and she felt her cheeks glowing hotly as he came so close.  
‘What happened?’ his concern and love for her were all over his face and voice. She remembered the dream more vividly, now that she was looking into his face, and wished he would stop touching her. He frowned at her expression, but didn’t let her go.  
‘Crezia, tell me. I heard you cry out.’  
Did he mean before or after the doors had opened in her dream? No doubt she had cried out continuously during such a perverse scene in her subconsciousness… Guiltily, she tried to look away from him, admiring the sheets and trying to decide what to tell him. The bedroom scene did happen, mostly, so maybe she should leave that part in. For surely, it was not uncommon to dream about things that had really happened. But then she remembered last night, when Cesare had left her bedroom as sudden as he had kissed her. Would it really be a good idea to confess she had dreamt about him? What if he ran away again? God forbid, what if he stayed away?  
‘Crezia!’ She snapped out of her contemplations, forced to look at his face. She didn’t think he seemed distant, more like he had forgotten all about yesterday, or the days before he went away. Men were like that. Maybe she should tell him.  
‘I had a dream,’ she said slowly. He nodded, encouraging her to go on. ‘I… you… you see… what are you doing here, Cesare?’  
She really couldn’t bear to explain it to him. He looked a bit taken aback by her sudden change of subject, but he didn’t pressure her to go on.  
‘I came back from riding in the early afternoon, and I wanted to see you. Mother said you had gone to your chambers.’  
‘Why did you want to see me?’ She eyed him sceptically, suddenly fearing he would have to leave again, to march all the way to the New Worlds with his army, undoubtedly.  
‘Because I brought you something. I intended to give it to you… earlier, but it slipped my mind.’  
He smiled broadly. Her heart fluttered in the childish prospect of his gift, and she examined him more closely. With a look on his transparent white blouse and tight black pants, she came to the conclusion that the present could not be very large, if he was hiding it in his pocket. Perhaps it was a ring… she subconsciously thought about a wedding – and then she laughed disdainfully at herself in her mind.  
‘Well, now is a perfectly all right time for me,’ she said to him, with a silky smile.  
He shook his head. ‘I don’t have it here, and it’s already quite late. Maybe you should try to sleep.’  
‘Absolutely not!’ she protested. ‘I slept just now. I could use a bit of food, however.’  
He smiled at her again, and nodded.  
‘All right, my lady,’ he stretched out his hand, ‘do accompany this lonely man to the dining hall.’  
She giggled and took his hand. ‘Certainly, my lord! I might even accompany his lonelyship to the dining table, if I find him to be amusing.’ She stepped out of bed, but as soon as she stood up straight, she staggered a little, so that Cesare had to support her. Her knees felt like bees wax – very pleasant, hot bees wax – and she hadn’t been prepared for that.  
‘It is only because of the dream,’ she said truthfully, when she saw Cesare’s worried look, ‘and honestly I might have stood up a little too quickly.’  
He hesitated, then wrapped one arm around her back and the other around her knees, and swung her off her feet. ‘His lonelyship hopes the lady forgives him for taking matters into his own hands.’  
She felt flushed again, but bravely looked up at him. ‘Although I think it is great fun to be carried about like this, the lords and cardinals might think it odd, or otherwise they might presume I have fallen ill.’  
He put her down again, shaking his head and rolling his eyes to his little, little sister.  
‘Very well. Walk beside me, then, princess.’ After a quick glance in the mirror, she straightened her gown and went to his side, realizing then how hungry she was.

In the dining hall was a great banquet where the wine flowed freely and the most exotic foods covered the tables, although banquets like these were usually only organized during Christian feasts. Of course, Duke Valentino had only returned from the Romagna a few days earlier, which the Pope deemed as good as (if not better than) any religious occasion. But the banquet was marvellous, and it was great fun to watch the spiteful cardinals get fatter right where they sat, unaware how ridiculous they looked, how ungodly and how hypocritic indeed of the very greed they condemned her family for. They knew nothing at all, she thought, no matter how many grey hairs they grew on their dumb heads. What was even greater fun, was to talk to these old crones, who were neither wise nor chaste as their faith demanded. With their mouths smeared with grease, their lips purple from wine, they lectured her on sins and vices, quoting passages from the bible so they could wash the Borgia from her pretty face and stare at her with less contempt. Now she focused on her food and emptied her chalice once more, smiling to herself. Giuliano, the kitchen boy standing behind her in attendance, immediately brought over the heavy jug of wine and refilled her cup. She looked up at him, quietly asked him how he was and if the kitchen staff would survive insatiable guests such as these. She often spoke to him during meals, so he understood she was joking and smirked at her, shaking his head in wonder.  
‘I hope so, My Lady, though surely some of these chairs will not survive another banquet such as this.’  
She laughed, perhaps a little too loudly, and quickly glanced around the table to see if anyone had taken offense. Cesare looked her way, frowning at the boy, but Giuliano did not see.  
She continued to chat with him, quickly drinking her wine so that he would have a reason to stay at her side longer without raising eyebrows. Usually she kept it short during large banquets, afraid perhaps of her reputation, but something spurred her to keep the conversation going. She took him in like she hadn’t before. The boy was in fact a young man, lean but muscular from the heavy kitchen work, with curiously bright blue eyes and lashes longer and darker than her own. Such a lovely face he had, this Giuliano!  
She emptied her chalice again. Giuliano motioned to fill it, then lowered his jug in astonishment.  
‘What?’ she demanded, only vaguely aware that she had said it a little too loudly yet again.  
‘Forgive me, but I seem to have run out of wine, My Lady. I shall fetch more from the kitchens at once.’  
She looked at the jug, which was indeed empty, while it had looked so full before.  
‘Oh, of course, please. Thank you, Giuliano.’ He ran off, while a man she did not know came to fill her chalice instead. She was aware suddenly of a set of eyes upon her. She turned her head and saw Cesare looking at her without any of the sweetness he had shown before dinner. In fact, the gentle look on his face when he had swooped her up in his arms seemed unreal now, his eyes full of shadows and covered with a hot rage she could barely look at. She froze, her chalice of wine in mid-air. Giuliano, she thought immediately, she should not have kept him at her table.  
Now what a ridiculous thought! A voice in her head screamed. Giuliano is your wine pourer, a kitchen boy, and it is perfectly alright to be polite and not have to talk to these old cardinals!  
But she knew, in her heart, that it was her fault nonetheless. For she knew this was the reaction she would get, she knew that she would never have talked to Giuliano for so long if Cesare hadn’t seen it. Not out of fear or prudence, but simply because she didn’t particularly care to do such a thing.  
‘Is there something wrong with the wine, My Lady Borgia? Is it not Catalan wine?’  
The mocking voice of Cardinal Orsini broke her paralysis, and she emptied the chalice again and turned to him with a vague smile on her lips. She saw that Orsini had eyed the exchange with her brother sharply, and she thought he looked strangely satisfied.  
‘Oh it is – Catalan, I mean,' she answered sweetly. 'Shall I have my servants take a jug for Your Eminence to enjoy in your own palace as you have enjoyed it at the banquet this evening?’  
She didn’t hear nor care for his reply, didn’t look over at Cesare again, and instead focused on her chalice of fine Catalan wine. She waited until it would be alright for her to leave the table, excused herself to her father the Pope, and left the banquet, her chalice still in her hand. 

Aimlessly, she wondered through the hallways of the Apostolic Palace, carefully avoiding her own chambers for reasons she did not understand. It was close to midnight now, and most corridors were empty except for a few guards scattered about or a drunken cardinal leaving the banquet. The ruffling of her skirts and the muffled sound her feet made on the stone floor seemed unnaturally loud. She stopped at the bottom of great marble stairs that led up to the third floor, which held uninteresting and hardly used rooms. Her father had put most of his creative attention to the second floor, where his private chambers were, close to the Sistine Chapel. She started ascending the white steps, that gave off a curious silver light under the moon shining through the narrow windows. It felt as if she was floating rather than walking. Thank God for Venetian glass, she thought. In fact, thank God for creating such wonderful light, such a curious moon so high up in the sky! She raised her chalice of wine toward the high windows, as if to cheer with the Lord Himself. Then, standing in the middle of the stairs, she brought the chalice to her lips, adoring the taste of the drink. Yes, Cardinal Orsini, thank God for Catalan wines!  
She would have gone all night thanking God for all His creations, carefully sipping her wine, had she not heard footsteps behind her. They could not have been hers, for she hadn’t moved. Had she? She looked at her feet, as if the answer must lay there. When she looked up again she saw the stairs ahead of her had changed, for they no longer unfolded in straight rows, but ran up and down in blurry lines.  
Again the sound of footsteps. Now she was sure they weren’t hers, mobile stairs or not. Her heart made a little jump, and she didn’t have the strength to curse herself for it. Was it him? She turned around, squeezing her chalice tightly, but the person creeping at the bottom of the stairs was not him. She should have known; she would have never heard his footsteps.  
‘Giuliano.’ With a look of surprise she looked down on his handsome contours. Giuliano still held a jug in his hands, which trembled slightly. Had he brought her the wine personally? She couldn’t think why, couldn’t even protest, for the wine had her in its grip and her cup was nearly empty.  
‘So you fetched that wine for me. Good.’ She held out her chalice, but he didn’t move.  
‘Forgive me, My Lady,’ he began, clearing his throat several times before daring to go on. She tried to smile at him to ease his nerves, but only seemed to make it worse. Softly, he said: ‘It is not wine in my jug, it is water. My… My Lord, Your Brother Borgia asked me to… make sure you were safe.’  
Her heart beat faster. She looked around the empty hallway, but there was no one except her and Giuliano. ‘Did he? Why?’  
It was not difficult to see the boy was in torment, probably with good reason.  
‘Come closer, Giuliano, come to me.’ Giuliano hesitated, but did what he was asked and ascended the stairs to the point where she was standing, his hands still trembling. She put her hands on his, causing him to make a little jump of fright at her touch.  
‘Now what is the matter, Giuliano? Give me the jug.’ She jabbed the jug from his strong hands and filled her cup herself, mixing the water with the wine she had left. Then she handed him the chalice. He took it looking dumbfounded, as if he wouldn’t know what to do with such an object. ‘Drink, my friend, and calm yourself. Please.’ Finally, with another nod from her, he brought the chalice to his lips and took a single sip. He handed it back to her with steadier hands. Actually she would have him drink more, but knew he never would, so she accepted her chalice.  
‘Nothing is the matter, My Lady, I was to come look for you,’ he said timidly.  
‘Then why are you shaking, if you have come to save me from this unholy Vatican of ours?’  
Wetting his lips, he whispered, ‘Your brother told me to save you from the wine and to not leave your side until you are safely back in your chambers.’ She stared at him for a moment in silence, then laughed so exuberantly that even Giuliano smiled awkwardly.  
‘How nice of him! I have such a loving brother, Giuliano, you would not believe it!’ She exclaimed. Giuliano nodded politely, although he probably had a pretty solid idea of how loving her brother was to her. It was the talk of the Vatican, of Rome, indeed of the whole of Italy, ever since they were young. She had always thought such gossip extremely amusing, until it was no longer gossip. Of course, only she and her brother knew that, so it didn’t matter.  
She stopped laughing at last and looked the handsome man before her in the eyes. She knew well how scary her brother could be when it didn’t involve her. Giuliano did not look like a weak-spined boy, which testified to the fact that Cesare was nothing short of a fire spitting dragon when it did involve her. She pitied Giuliano, whom she truly liked, and sought to reassure him. With the chalice in one hand and the jug of water in the other, she bowed forward until her face was only a few inches from his. He still looked frightened, but a curious defiance gleamed in his heavenly blue eyes. Not of her, but of everything in this wicked world that kept him forever to his place in the kitchens, bowing to those with more money than him and with a better name, loving only those that he was allowed to love by the law of propriety. He, who was so very pretty, so good a Christian and so kind a character, could never be so close to someone like her. Yet he was still too young not to be reckless, hopeful and rebellious, so he didn’t move as her flowery smell poured over him like a powerful spell. She placed a soft kiss on his lips, wet from the wine she had given him. It was not a kiss of desire, or lust, or a kiss with a future. It was exactly what it was: an innocent kiss. Not uncommon at all for the passionate Spanish people, although perhaps it was uncommon between a lady and a servant boy standing in the middle of a staircase in the Vatican. But she knew God would not mind.  
Although Giuliano must have realised what she was about to do, he looked truly surprised, and she feared for a second that her kiss had turned him to stone like she was a Medusa Monster of Love.  
Then it was her turn to be surprised.  
A dark spirit that could have come from anywhere suddenly snatched Giuliano’s white servant’s collar and dragged the boy away from her. Giuliano could hardly gasp in shock before the shadow closed its hands around his throat and prevented him from breathing. She would have believed it God’s wrath, had she not known from the very beginning that he had been standing there all along. From the moment Giuliano had told her who had sent him, the realisation was there in her mind, prevented from materialising by the wine. That he would be there, in the shadows of the hallway, for he would never send another to do his most important job: keeping her safe.  
What a stupid idea of her, to leave the banquet so early and go strolling through the Vatican alone! What a horrible deed of her, to kiss that innocent boy, for it had been a Judas kiss! How could her watchful brother not punish the handsome Giuliano, who had dared kiss his little sister?  
She had known, oh how she had known that this would happen.  
A little unsteadily, she walked over to the balustrade, where the dark spirit she loved so much continued to threaten poor Giuliano’s life. This was worse than her dream.  
‘Stop that. Right now!’ She demanded, but she sounded weak. To her surprise, however, she saw the muscles in Cesare’s neck and shoulders relax. ‘Look at me, Ces, please.’ He turned his head to the side and looked at her, while careful to keep Giuliano in his human death trap. He looked like a vague reflection of himself, the rage he had shown at the table earlier multiplied thousandfold. It didn’t scare her now, although she realised the wine still flowed strongly through her veins. Impulsively, she put the jug and the chalice down on the stairs and brought her free hands to his cheeks. His look of rage didn’t change, his hands didn’t reach out to her but continued to embrace the boy’s throat. Giuliano whimpered but she took no note of it. She just looked at him, feeling his stubbles beneath her finger tops, ignoring his mean eyes and angry grin. Then she leaned in like she had with Giuliano and kissed his lips.  
This was no innocent kiss, though she had intended it to be. But she felt the forbidden desire flowing from her lips onto his, so that he felt it, too. He forgot the boy he was strangling, dropped him like a rag doll on the marble stairs and wove his fingers in her hair with a newfound gentleness. Unable to contain himself, he attacked her with his lips over and over again, sending her to a place of divinity quite unlike the Vatican. She responded to his passion, moaning, feeling through his curly hair. He pulled his mouth away from hers and placed it against the arch of her neck, going down further until his lips caressed the bosom that bulged shapely out of her tight bodice. His hands slid from her hair and across her back, greedily moving her skirts to feel her buttocks. He pressed her body closer to his mouth, as if she were the last drop of water in his desert of love and desire. He mumbled her name over and over and she felt herself become liquid, the earth become like air. Just as she placed her hands on the fringes of his blouse, intending to rip it off, she lost her balance and shifted on the stairs. Her feet knocked over the chalice of watery wine and she felt the fluid stain her dress and shoes. The coldness brought her back to reality and she tore herself from his embrace, panting, feeling drugged. She saw Giuliano sitting with his back to the stairs balustrade, in exactly the same position as when Cesare had dropped him. His face was like that of a child who gets his lollypop stolen from him: surprised, horrified, jealous and miserable, at the brink of crying out. He said nothing, didn’t even seem to feel the marks on his throat that surely must have hurt. He just stared at her as if she herself were the devil, holding him hostage. Even when Cesare turned his head, so his terrifying profile became visible for Giuliano, he just kept staring at her face, that was still hot and read and sticky. Through all the shame and awkwardness, she felt a second surge of pity for the unfortunate boy. How very wicked they were.  
She picked up the water jug and held it out to Giuliano. She was aware of her heavily shaking hands, worse than Giuliano’s when he had brought her the water. ‘Would you bring this to the kitchen?’ Her voice might have been someone else’s. She could still taste Cesare in her mouth and was oddly aware of this while speaking. Giuliano slowly raised himself up, leaning on the balustrade, and took the jug from her outstretched hand. She waited for him to leave, but he didn’t.  
‘Does My Lady wish me to accompany her to her chambers?’  
Cesare turned around fully now, making himself as large as possible and did a good job of it, standing one step higher than Giuliano. But Giuliano didn’t move a muscle, no longer afraid. She marvelled at his courage to ask such a thing, only half serious. He might as well have thrown the water in Cesare’s face. Cesare certainly looked the part, but he too still reeled from the outburst. Before anyone could do anything stupid, she shook her head, almost trying to deny all that had happened.  
‘Have no worry, Giuliano,’ Cesare’s eyes darted sharply to her when she said the boy’s name, ‘We – I will manage by myself. It is quite late, please bring the jug back to the kitchens and go to sleep. I’m sorry… to keep you here so long. Forgive my insolence.’ She felt that she had to make her excuses, but she could not seriously ask him to forgive her brother (and her, for that matter) for nearly killing him. Giuliano nodded, as if in acceptance of her half-hearted apology, but he was glaring at Cesare now. Somehow she felt it wasn’t for her brother’s attempt to kill him. In fact, if he didn’t avert his eyes, Cesare would not think long before trying it again, and for some reason this seemed exactly what Giuliano wanted. He didn’t think about fighting her brother, did he? There was a strange look in his eyes. She expected to see disgust, but that wasn’t quite it. He now looked like the child who hadn’t gotten a lollypop at all.  
‘Giuliano!’ She urged, frowning and ignoring Cesare’s clenched fists. Giuliano averted his eyes, bowed to her quickly without looking up, turned around and walked down the hallway. Cesare and her were the only ones now. Their breathing was the only sound.  
For some reason, all she could think about was her dream. His fingers on the insides of her thighs, his little smirk as he pulled his blouse over his head… after that scene just now, she was sure she was not the only one to have odd dreams. She tried to think of something else, but he was so near that she couldn’t.  
None of them spoke for at least ten minutes. She merely stared down at her dress, thinking of anything other than the dream. The bottom of her light green dress was stained with red wine, but she thought it looked like blood. Like in the dream, when the sheets had been covered with the dark substance… Cesare moved suddenly, which nearly gave her a heart attack. But all he did was stoop down to pick up her empty chalice. He looked at her but she would not look back. Then he stretched out his left arm gallantly.  
‘Well, let’s get you to your chambers.’  
She nodded and took his arm, letting him escort her to the Torre Borgia. None of them spoke, for what was there to say?  
At her doors, she greeted the guards that were on either side of them, both of them Cesare’s men. Cesare followed her inside and she was unsure if she wanted that. She didn’t trust herself anymore. It was her, after all, who had instigated all of it up on the stairs, just because she had had a little too much wine. He did not seem to have the same fears as she, or the same denial he had shown the other night. Instead, he came too close for comfort. She did not pull away, a familiar betrayal of her own body. He lifted her chin, like he did so often, lifted it and gently kissed her lips. It was a strange kiss, again full of promises and dreams and wishes, but none of them moved to do anything more than just that touch. They stood there for ages, it seemed, for she did not want to pull away from such sweetness. Finally he did, and when she opened her eyes she could just see him slip out through the open doors.


	5. Playing the Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucrezia adjusts to the new situation with her brother and Giuliano after the drunken scene on the stairs, but she finds it is not a very comfortable one.

The next few days, very little happened that could be considered out of the ordinary.  
Lucrezia went about her day, attended breakfast, lunch and dinner, sometimes lingered to play cards with her mother and brother. Everything seemed returned to normal; he would make jokes at her expense, cheat on the games they played and even wink at some of the maids, all three of which infuriated her. During one particular game, she had thrown down her cards and refused to continue playing, seemingly because he was cheating but really because his beautiful servant had brushed the back of his hand while she was refilling his cup. All the while Giuliano stood behind her holding a similar jug of wine, tending to her drink but never touching her. Just as a good servant would.  
She knew that he had not spoken to anyone about what he had witnessed, although, feeling his coldness towards her, she failed to understand why. Perhaps because of his own part in the event, or because spreading such rumours as a servant could cost him dearly… unless he was still waiting for the right moment. She couldn’t help but feel more aware of him, standing behind her like her own shadow, following her every move – and Cesare’s. Of course she was cautious not to give Giuliano, much less anyone else, a reason to suspect anything. Neither, apparently, was Cesare; he hadn’t visit her in her chambers yet, while normally when he was in Rome he never failed to do so for more than a week. She forced herself to be happy about it, to consider it her much longed-for chance to breathe and think clearly without smoke and waves troubling her mind. She could finally give her husband the undivided attention he seemed in so much need of, which stopped him from spending all his nights at a tavern.  
So, in the grand scheme of things, the new order of the day was an improvement –  
But for those moments when she was doing something dull or thinking about nothing in particular.  
Suddenly, his face would be upon her: during eating, sewing, reading, chatting. And always, always it happened at night. She would wake up in a frenzy and feel his lips on hers, a strange long kiss so much like the one from that night when he had brought her to her chambers. It haunted her like a ghost she both longed for and despised, filling her with guilt and desire. She wondered if he felt the same and found herself hoping that he did. It seemed unfair to her that she should suffer alone, especially because she suspected she could not handle it quite as well as he could.  
Then one day, when she was having dinner with her Vanozza and Cesare, he confirmed those feelings by doing the worst imaginable. He announced that he was leaving her again.  
‘You are sailing back to France?’ She cried out. Her mother looked up from her plate, but she ignored her irritated expression and continued in the same tenor. ‘Why not let your wife come here? Why do you have to go to France yourself?’  
Cesare sat back in his chair, looking back at her with a little smile on his lips. Did he find her amusing? The tension and frustration she always supressed rose higher, and she pushed it further down.  
Giuliano came over to fill her chalice, although it hadn’t been empty. She looked at him distracted, and frowned. He pretended not to see and stood back again, peering to some distant candle or wall drapery. She looked back at Cesare just in time to see he had followed Giuliano’s movements intently. A familiar black cloud drifted before his eyes and made his smile seem vicious.  
‘I am not going for Charlotte,’ he said, laughing as if the suggestion was absolutely absurd. ‘Although I must say that I would love to see my wife again after so long a time…’  
‘You might as well.’ Vanozza looked up from her honeyed lambs piece and looked at her son critically. ‘Your marriage might have been one of convenience, but that poor girl must think you a brute for leaving her so alone.’  
‘Oh, mother,’ Lucrezia jumped in, her voice icy, ‘I am sure that such marriages of convenience are not foreign to her. She may be French, but she is a woman all the same, and therefore should know to expect little from men.’ She wouldn’t have dared say such things had her father been present, but her mother only rolled her eyes and continued busying herself with her meal.  
Cesare, however, put down his fork and crossed his arms before his chest. ‘I do hope I am not the inspiration of your general expectations of all men,’ he said.  
She raised her shoulders. ‘If you go to France, you certainly will not prove them wrong.’  
He bit his lip and pretended to think on that, but then he laughed at her. ‘You know what, I think I shall figure out a way to get back in your good graces on my way back to Rome. Or perhaps I will ask Charlotte, for she didn’t seem quite so disapproving of me the last time I saw her.’  
She glared at him and prepared to speak, but wisely decided against it. As an alternative, she abruptly emptied her chalice, an attempt to prevent her hands from clenching into fists or her lips from speaking all the mean words she longed to say. Giuliano quickly came to refill the cup, which she noted took him an extraordinarily long time.  
‘But if you truly wish to know, dear sister,’ Cesare continued in an off-hand manner. He picked up his fork again and started picking at his food while speaking, sometimes pausing to eat. ‘I must report to King Louis. I’m afraid he is growing suspicious of me, after the debacle with Florence. I have tried to send Vitelli to France so he may take responsibility for his own actions, but the fool maintains that he is too ill to travel. Vitelli might not care for French arms, but I certainly do… so if he keeps refusing to appear before the king, then I must.’ She opened her mouth to reply, but Cesare suddenly directed his attention to Giuliano. ‘And you, boy! Be careful with those refills, I fear my sister is a bit of lightweight. I, on the other hand…’ He raised his cup and stared at Giuliano expectantly. The servant behind him came rushing to his side and put her wine jug forward, but Cesare waved her away, still looking intently at Giuliano. ‘Well? Won’t you fill mine, as you are?’  
Giuliano quickly moved from Lucrezia’s side to her brother’s and filled his cup. She saw the red stripes in his neck and on his pale face, though he tried to keep it turned away from the table. She witnessed the event utterly speechless, until she realized Cesare was waiting for her reply.  
‘Are you mocking me, brother?’ was all she could think to say, though she had it for a certainty that he was in fact mocking both her and Giuliano.  
‘Merely an attempt to make up for all the lost opportunities while I am away in France, my love.’ He beamed an endearing smile at her, but she just cocked an eyebrow, regarding him coolly.  
‘Vitelli may not want to go to France, for which I, in all honesty, cannot blame him,’ she began, ‘but you know full well that it is not really Vitelli the French King wants. He is not cross with Vitelli for making a move on Arezzo, he is cross with you for coming so close to Florence, intentionally or not. You are conquering half of Italy, my sweet brother, and not in the name of the French. Louis will come to realize that one of these days, and you best not find yourself in his court when he does, guarded by men he pays and drinking wine that he provides. I beg of you: stay here!’  
Cesare looked at her silently for a moment and considered her words. She felt hope grow in her chest, against her better judgement.  
‘You are well informed, sis, I must admit it,’ he said, and hope had gone as quickly as it had come. ‘But it makes you no expert on the matter. Louis would never kill the gonfalonier of the papal troops, nor would he dare kill the son of the Pope. Not if it is the only party that offers him a sure foothold in Italy and a gateway to Naples. But kings are proud and in need of pampering, so that is all I will do in France.’ He picked up his goblet of wine and took a sip, adding with a sly smile: ‘And drink the king’s wine, of course. Do not fret about that, sister, for poison is a woman’s weapon. You ought know that –’  
‘Naples?’ She interrupted. As much as she tried to sound reasonable, her voice was full of accusations. At this rate, she thought, she would soon have neither her brother nor her marriage. ‘I rather thought that the gateway to Naples was guarded by the Aragone. A family that I am part of through my Lord husband, as I am sure you remember. There was a wedding, not so long ago.’  
She saw the flicker in Cesare’s eyes that meant her wedding to Alfonso was as fresh on his mind as it was on hers. Certain parts of it, at least.  
‘I remember.’ He just said. They stared at each other.  
It must have gone on for a few seconds more, for suddenly Vanozza spoke again.  
‘Staring each other out of the room is not going to convince anyone of anything, either, so please be civil with each other, my children. And let us not discuss politics further, it quite ruins my appetite.’  
‘Forgive me, mother,’ Cesare said, the words directed at Vanozza but his eyes fixed on Lucrezia. ‘But I must admit that I’m totally famished all of a sudden.’  
Lucrezia looked down at her plate, avoiding his eyes. It seemed her world would always begin with him and end with him, no matter what she did. He revolved around her or she revolved around him, caught in an endless dance like the sun and the moon. She imagined his hands, holding on to her and the threads of her life, like some God or some Devil, and she felt herself spinning and spinning endlessly.

Later that night, Cesare asked her if she wanted to stay for cards, but she said no. She feared she might scream if she stayed near him longer, listening to him talk of France or feel him control her even in the card game. When he offered to escort her to her chambers instead, she heard the longing in his voice but saw the fear in his eyes, pleading her to say at once yes and no. So she declined that offer, too and asked Giuliano to escort her, which earned her a scowling look from Cesare. He seemed on the verge of saying something, but she quickly wished him a good night and slipped out of the dining room, with Giuliano closely behind her.  
When they arrived at her rooms, she noticed Giuliano was smiling for the first time since the night on the stairs. She glared at him distrustfully, thinking he was mocking her and still upset about Cesare.  
‘Why do you smile?’ she demanded.  
Giuliano looked surprised at the question, or perhaps surprised at her expression. ‘I was merely being polite, My Lady. Forgive me if I have given offense, for I would never.’  
No, he could never give her offense, she thought, for she had given so much to him already that the balance could not possibly be restored in her lifetime. ‘Alright. How are you, Giuliano?’  
And for the first time in a week, he answered her gayly, saying, ‘Quite alright, My Lady, thank you.’  
‘That is good to hear. I bid you a good night, Giuliano,’ she said, smiling warmly.  
Giuliano nodded and turned around, ready to walk off. Suddenly she found herself asking: ‘Would you like to play cards?’  
He looked at her for a moment, puzzled, and repeated, ‘Cards, My Lady?’  
‘Yes, cards,’ she said. She opened the door to the anteroom of her bedchambers and watched the handsome boy standing before her, the doubt as to what was the proper thing to do plain on his face. His deep blue eyes and fair complexion involuntarily reminded her of her dark brother, who had seemed so eager to leave for France, to leave her, and she felt a flash of anger. But when Giuliano accepted her invitation and stepped into the room, she also thought of how hurt he would be, so very hurt, and she felt her heart bleed as would his.  
No! She had to forget, rip him from her lips and her dreams and her mind. Stop the spinning.  
So she looked at Giuliano, smiled again and closed the door.


End file.
